


Noble Blood

by Jencroo



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Dress Up, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, RSC Richard II (2013) Compliant, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations, Smut, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Theatre, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jencroo/pseuds/Jencroo
Summary: A thought came up to the demon while they were watching Shakespeare's famous play.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Noble Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to @edgarallennope for helping me to make it. To write it properly so somebody can read it.

The premiere was sold-out. Every last ticket was gone long before the release day because of three key reasons. As Crowley thought himself, of course. Firstly, it was beautiful. The trailer revealed the most beautiful decorations and costumes he'd seen, and the atmosphere was incredible! Secondly, the company itself was so renowned that even Crowley couldn't avoid hearing about them!. And lastly; the cast was phenomenal. It was enough for Crowley to agree to spend an evening in the theatre without the usual argument when he got a call from ecstatic Aziraphale. Also – a mysterious likeness between himself and the lead actor gave the demon some thoughts about ways of tricking his angel after or something like that. And so there he was: settled comfortably in his seat right next to his fidgety angel, waiting for the play to begin. The solemn pipes of the organ began to sing as the silhouette of a mourning woman appeared, bent over the ceremonial coffin, crowded by the grieving people. Last whispers were gone as King Richard II presented himself.

Every person in the theatre hall was completely concentrated on the stage. There was no exception even for supernatural entities. Both, a demon and an angel, were captured by the amazing performance. There was even a moment when Aziraphale covered Crowley’s palm with his and squeezed it. He didn’t remove it till the very end. The scene Richard was first to taste despair caused it, brought up to the surface such strong feelings, and when the king’s monologue continued, when he was alone with a trusted soul, the angel tears were spilled. That moment Crowley was looking at his face. He saw his thoughts about them, and feelings of repentance and trust tore the demon’s soul. He saw Aziraphale in a linen robe, dusting his head, bending his knees before the stronger leader, bending to his will. He saw his angel in sorrow, looking for his only friend to share this duty, this burden. And then he saw himself, crowned and lightened, just before he trusted someone wrong. The stage was already changing into the other one, but the stormy flow of thoughts could not completely calm down.

The first stop for the after-party was a decent french cafe with the best crepes in the city. It was very hard to turn on the usual light deep in the angel's grey eyes again after he completely cried it out with the sorrow of the king’s death. Not before the image of the maple syrup spilling on the pancake, glowing with heat. A few minutes later the sobbing turned into an excited speech. Its flow grew exponentially, the more wonderful details of the play Aziraphale wanted to note and praise. He was streaming out thoughts unstoppably even when they were already at the cottage, and the mysteriously smiling demon opened the door to let them in. The pause dropped the same moment Aziraphale was heading to the bedroom to change clothes. Crowley whispered "I'll be right back" and vanished in the corridor. 

Angel changed into his cozy cardigan, got himself a cup of cocoa – all in thoughtful silence. Then, he admired the garden through the window for a few minutes and finally settled in his armchair with a book. That's when the demon showed himself again.

From the shadows of the corridor, in the cold pale light, King Richard appeared, almost the spitting image of the one they'd just seen on stage. From the flowing fabric of the linen robe, following bare feet, and up to the shining crown, resting on wavy locks that came to his shoulder blades. All that differed was the weather-stained copper in place of fair brown, and the pair of sad snake eyes on his handsome, glamorous face. The man took a few timid steps towards Aziraphale and gave him a dreary glare. Then moved closer. A nonchalant glance touched the walls. Slender fingers slowly took off the crown, vaguely swinging it.

_What must the king do now? Must he submit?_   
_The king shall do it: must he be deposed?_   
_The king shall be contented: must he lose_   
_The name of king? o' God's name, let it go:_   
_I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,_   
_My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,_   
_My gay apparel for an almsman's gown,_   
_My figured goblets for a dish of wood,_   
_My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff,_   
_My subjects for a pair of carved saints_   
_And my large kingdom for a little grave,_   
_A little little grave, an obscure grave;_   
_Or I'll be buried in the king's highway,_   
_Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet_   
_May hourly trample on their sovereign's head;_   
_For on my heart they tread now whilst I live;_   
_And buried once, why not upon my head?_

As he spoke those last words, Crowley kneeled in front of Aziraphale, reaching his hands out to him. And with a tremble, the shining crown went down to rest on luminous curls. The angel gasped quietly, completely lost in the act with his gaze locked on the demon. Light grey eyes filled with tears again. Crowley glared at him with sympathy, took a breath, and continued.

_Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin!_   
_We'll make foul weather with despised tears;_   
_Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn,_   
_And make a dearth in this revolting land._   
_Or shall we play the wantons with our woes,_   
_And make some pretty match with shedding tears?_   
_As thus, to drop them still upon one place,_   
_Till they have fretted us a pair of graves_   
_Within the earth; and, therein laid,--there lies_   
_Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes._

The last inches of space between them dissolve when cold fingers touch the angel’s face, and their lips meet each other in a desperate kiss. Aziraphale's nimble tongue pressed against familiar, thin lips and pushed through, crossing with Crowley's forked one in a passionate dance. Crowley twitched, tearing away to look into his angel’s loving eyes. Aziraphale licked his lips and put his hand gently on the demon’s cheek.

“It is indeed a most suitable image for you, my dear,” he left another kiss on the corner on Crowley’s lips, “and your performance was so impressive, so genuine…” he placed his hand gently in Crowley’s, pulling him up, “you drove me quite mad, love”.

The angel stood up, backing Crowley into the window. Step by step, until the thin cloth of his majestic robe touched the cold, glass surface. Aziraphale leaned in and tucked a loose strand of red hair behind his ear. The royal diadem was once again rested onto his royal brow.

“Keep your crown, my Liege. Don’t let it fall”.

With that, the last kiss on his lips was sealed before the angel kneeled down to worship the one he loved. He gently caressed the naked skin of Crowley's leg, which was cold to the touch, lifting the pale fabric to reveal even more of him. Then eager lips reached out to his knee, and glided upwards, causing shivers running through the demon’s body. Crowley had to cover his mouth for his shameful moaning to remain inside. As if he’d let it out – he'll lose control for sure, and the crown will definitely slip off. A quiver took over his body, from head to foot. Aziraphale was setting his nerves alight, and pleasure began to pool in his lower abdomen. But as the fire grew, the prelude ended. Aziraphale rose, kissing Crowley’s neck with the low-voiced whisper.

“Will you let me, my Liege?”

The demon sniffed and turned, sweating palms pressed against the chilly window. He almost wanted to snuggle up to the cool surface, press his forehead against the condensation, but then he certainly wouldn't be able to keep the crown. The angel lifted his leg gently, creating a space for him to step into. He pressed his fingers inside of the demon, curling and pumping them, and soon replaced them with himself.

A royal crown remained seated on the demon’s copper locks until the very end.


End file.
